Conscience - oneshot
by annieplus7
Summary: Gajeel's change of heart after Phantom Lord is destroyed.
1. Chapter 1

He was a man of no purpose. No future. A vagrant drifting across society's waves. He rolled with the troubles, the obstacles. He had nothing, owned nothing. He stood amongst the rubble of his guild. No, not his guild any more. Just another scrap heap.

He turned over a plaster slab, large enough that he recognized it as a piece of the wall. He dug through the gravel beneath it with his bare foot until he uncovered the polished floor of the main hall.

He released the slab with an irritated sigh, letting it fall and crack under its own weight. He allowed his irritation to fester in his heart, giving way to outright anger. He smashed the remaining pieces of smooth slab with the heel of his foot, reducing it to coarse dust.

It didn't matter. There was still nothing left for him here. Every day, he would tell himself there was something, an indescribable something that tied him to this garbage heap. At first, it was the remnants of his possessions. Then, it became a search for anything of value. When the money from the valuables became scant, it was all he could do to find enough nails to make a single meal.

He turned away, stalking across the hills that made up the ruins. He walked with no destination in his mind, but he found himself headed towards his hovel. He hesitated for a moment, considering what it was that awaited him there. A mealy pallet, a lantern, and the last of the wrought iron, but certainly nothing that was worth the breath it would take to walk there. He stopped completely now. He caught sight of his reflection in a broken window pane.

Wild black hair fell around him in a tangled mass that more closely resembled a mane than actual hair. His dark skin was dirty, smudged with grime from his hand wiping sweat off his brow during the heat of the day. His mouth twisted into a grimace of disgust as he finally caught sight of his eyes. He saw bitterness and hatred plainly shining back at him. Before, there had always been someone to blame, someone to pour his cruelty into. But now, there was only himself.

His anger gave way to despair. The full weight of his actions came crashing into him like a steaming locomotive. He had done terrible things. Hurt people. Good, kind people. And he hurt inside. He placed his hand over his chest where it pained him most, trying to ease the sorrow that suddenly clawed at him.

Empathy. Feeling for others. A lesson he had forgotten somewhere in his past. Even now, he could not recall the details. But he could hear the voices. His voice. The voice that banished his fears. The voice that shook the earth with its power. The voice that he so often condemned to the darkest corner of his mind. He had buried it for so long, he physically lurched when it spoke so clear; so strong.

 _Mend your mistakes._

A command. No room for exceptions or negotiations. He was well known for such things. But it rang true. Instantly, his mind flashed to the little girl with blue hair. No. Not a girl. She was a woman. A woman with bright, sensitive eyes and a heart that beat only for her friends. He flinched as the memory of her torture crossed before his eyes. Her screams and her tears scorched him; he could still see her blood on his skin, smell her burning flesh. Despite his best efforts, his heart still plummeted at the depths of his inhumanity.

He shook his head to dispel the voice that echoed around him. No force on Earthland could fix his depravity. He broke every natural law known. And still, the voice insisted.

 _Mend your mistakes._

He was disgusted with himself. There was no way he could right every single wrong. It would take time.

 _Mend your mistakes._

It would take the rest of his life. He looked away from his reflection to the trash piled high around him. There was nothing for him here. Despair and tragedy haunted this desolate ground. It was cursed.

A fleeting glimmer of hope skittered through his thoughts and he snatched at it desperately. He could have purpose again. It skirted the edges of his mind, playing havoc with his memories. He remembered his father and the lessons renewed themselves as though a light descended upon them. Pride and honor. Compassion and justice. Kindness and love.

He stumbled over the last thought. No, he would forbid himself from love. As penance, he would enact all, except for love. His heart beat inside a rotten hide, too eaten with malice to love anymore. He would redraw the lines. Start anew. Fresh.

As if Earthland herself could hear his internal revelation, the cloudy sky released a single wave of rain. It fell in great round drops, pelting his skin with crystal clear water. He inhaled the moist air, filling his lungs until he thought he would burst. For the first time since Metalicana left him, he felt good. Yes. Purpose was good.

"Gajeel."

It took him many moments to realize this was a different voice, one with a body; an external source. When the clouds broke and the rain let up, he turned to find the short old man from Fairy Tail standing under a broken doorframe.

Almost instantly, he reverted to his old ways. Brush him off, send him packing. Never let them know you. Never again. But the voice in his head chastised him.

 _Listen_.

He refused, but still the man spoke. He talked about his guild; his code of honor. He droned on about things Gajeel had already realized. The old man offered a bed, shelter, work, and food. Such menial things. Things that had started to feel more like a luxury than a basic living standard. His mind may not have listened, but the rest of him did. His body yearned for decent rest and proper nourishment. They were simple things, very small things. But they resembled something much bigger than what he ever hoped for. A future. Was it too much to believe? The voice answered him.

 _Listen_.

"It won't be easy."

No. It certainly wouldn't. Forgiveness was too much to ask for. Love even more so. He decided he would settle for their tolerance and take the days as they came.

 _Mend your mistakes._

He had nothing, owned nothing. But that only meant he had nothing to lose. It would be hard, impossible, at first. It would take time.

It would become his life's mission.

The man awaited an answer. His wrinkled hands were crammed inside his coat pockets, curled together to stave off the unusual cold that blew through the town. Gajeel could see the magic stamp peeking out from the old man's coat.

He was stunned. The old man actually had hope.

Hope.

It was a strange feeling. An awkward swelling in his chest that made him believe in good things; in a future beyond what he had resigned himself to.

No. Hope was dangerous. It made the fall that much harder. It crushed him once as a child, but he wouldn't let it get the better of him this time. He would tread carefully, with more reserve. Trust no one. Love no one. And mend your mistakes.

This man knew many things and Gajeel could tell he would not make this offer to anyone who would not be useful.

He offered the old man what he hoped was a nod. He didn't trust his voice to answer confidently. One of the first lessons he learned as a child was to show no weakness. Become the iron and it will protect you.

The man beckoned for him to kneel and he did so. His old Phantom Lord insignia had fizzled out long ago, permanently disintegrated from his right shoulder. He offered the man the opposite arm. A new limb for a new emblem to start his new life.

The old man pressed the flat end of the polished knob into his muscle. It felt warm, pleasantly so. Not at all like his Phantom Lord insignia – that had burned for many hours. He looked down at the new guild mark. It was black, the same as before, but somehow it felt different. He felt light and almost like smiling, but that was ridiculous. He would not smile. He grunted his approval and followed the old man out of the cursed ruins of the Phantom Lord guild hall.


	2. Chapter 2

The scent of burnt coffee wafted towards him and he inhaled the fresh, roasted perfume. It was a heady smell he had come to associate with the café.

A glass pot of the caffeinated brew sat on top of the counter before him and a young barista poured his order into a large to-go cup, sealing in the heat with a charmed lid.

It was morning in the bright town of Magnolia, but morning would be a stretch of truth since the sun would not be up for a while.

Gajeel sipped at his coffee, not yet cool enough to down the rejuvenating beverage. He stepped out of the café, turning the corner and eating up the sidewalk with a smooth stride. He had no destination in mind, just a need to further explore the city Makarov had brought him to.

Makarov.

His guild master.

The man was sharp for an old geezer, Gajeel had to give him credit. After leaving Oak Town, he wasn't entirely convinced the old man had thoroughly thought out his induction to the guild. He was shown to a little annexed cottage on the guild property, most likely a bonus for any maintenance staff. Although, he had yet to see any staff aside from the white-haired demon wench.

He turned the corner of a small, red brick building. He was coming up on the seedier side of town, as identified by the lack of repairs to broken windows and litter strewn in the street. It was still too early for folks to be out, so he continued, not thinking anything of the sweet tinkle of a bell behind him.

Habit had him turning to judge whatever threat was at his back. He paused long enough to catch a glimpse of bright cerulean hair barely tamed by a cheerful orange band behind a hideous stack of moldering books and parchments.

He recognized that hair.

Dread seized his icy stomach as his mind flashed to the little Fairy he nailed to a tree.

He ducked into a nearby doorway, a cold sweat breaking over his body.

 _Did she see me?!_

He clenched his forgotten coffee, popping the lid partly off and spilling the scalding liquid on his bare hand. He couldn't bring himself to even notice as he covertly leaned around the store front and watched the female mage cross the street into the better side of town.

His heartbeat settled as the distance between them increased. He stepped out of the doorway, feeling secure she wouldn't turn around; not with her purposeful stride.

He watched her go with a scowl. He suddenly felt unsure he could make an apology to her. It wasn't that he was afraid she would not accept it, he knew damn well she wouldn't and he deserved that. But seeing her perform such a mundane errand, as if he had never even touched her – affected her, he wasn't sure he could approach such a monolithic task. And it was indeed large. He had belittled her, humiliated her. He made her feel weak and helpless. Which only served to salt the wounds.

How did one mend such a terrible mistake?

He snorted. Yeah, you could stitch a tear, but this was a gaping hole. He couldn't fix a hole.

Could he?

He stepped around and examined the shop she had exited. The sign was old and illegible, but he could tell it had once been a very uppity sort of store. With the calligraphy and scrollwork, such craftsmanship was expensive, even nowadays. He saw nothing beyond the display window, so he peered through the door.

He tried not to press his face into the grimy glass, but the store was so dark, he tried to block out what light he could just to get a little—

"It's open around back."

He jumped a measurable three feet in the air and jerked around to face his assailant. He wasn't guilty by any means, but he would have thought he would hear if someone had walked up to him.

He balanced at the ready on the balls of his feet, his stance clearly aggressive, his hands and shoulders tense for a fight.

But his attacker barely came up to his chest and he was thrown off balance by the sight of one certain Fairy mage he had just witnessed leaving under cargo of old tomes.

He straightened immediately, and realized he had fisted his paper cup of coffee into oblivion. He silently mourned the loss of caffeine, and did his best to shake his hand dry, going so far as to pop his fingers one-by-one into his mouth in a feeble attempt to take in the caffeine he lost.

He noticed she was standing a polite distance away, her arms relaxed at her sides and her expression smooth and clear. Her eyes struck him for a moment. Their clarity made him feel more a jerk the longer he watched her. She appeared to be waiting for something.

Was he supposed to say something?

An uncomfortable silence fell over them, and an uncontrollable urgency to save the situation gripped him as each nanosecond passed with excruciating awkwardness.

They each took a breath to say something, and she laughed a few puffs before gesturing that he should speak first.

"I was...looking," he said, mentally kicking himself for such an inarticulate excuse.

She responded with a quiet smile, "If you want to go in, you should use the back entrance." She pointed at the store in question, "This door is locked from the outside."

He nodded his head, perhaps a bit too vigorously.

She stood before him and he caught the subtle widening of her eyes, the parting of her pink lips.

Gods no. She recognized him. He had to leave. He couldn't face this confrontation right now. He wasn't ready. He turned on his heel, walking fast, but not so fast that he was running like what he wanted to do.

He heard her call out for him to wait, but he couldn't tell if she was angry or not. He ignored her and kept walking.

He felt like a fool.

* * *

Darkness blanketed Magnolia that evening. Gajeel stepped across the clay tiles of an apartment complex, headed towards the guild hall. He could have walked in the street, but then he wouldn't have the advantage to learn the streets from high up. It had nothing to do with avoiding the script mage.

Absolutely nothing.

He leapt the wide gap of an alley in one bound, landing silently on the other side. He grinned to himself. He had always prided himself on his prowess. It took him a long time to develop his dragon slayer instincts and he never took them for granted. Life without his gift would hardly be a life at all.

 _Humility is the mark of a true Slayer_.

Metalicana's voice echoed in his head from an old memory. He was starting to remember a great deal of Metalicana recently, most notably of how much his lessons annoyed him.

He maneuvered the uneven tiles of the hall, the old and the new clay clicked under his boot heels as he climbed to the top level. He noticed the windows were open early that morning to release the heat from the kitchen. He could smell the remnants of that night's supper and he secretly hoped there would be a something left for him to scrape up.

Luck was on his side and he slipped through one of the unlocked skylights. He hung by the sill for a moment, allowing his eyes to adjust to the darkness, then dropped. He landed with a muffled thud on the second level, where the S-Class jobs were located. The floor was currently unoccupied and he pulled a few postings off the board to save for later.

He was technically below an S-Class ranking now that he joined a new guild, but Makarov gave him leave to frequent the board, if only to avoid the members downstairs.

He had yet to be introduced as a new Fairy Tail member, and he wanted to keep it that way for as long as possible. He wanted to be forgotten by the time _that_ news was sprung.

A loose board creaked as someone mounted the stairs to the second floor. Gajeel ducked behind a column, out of sight of the newcomer. He caught the distinct whiff of seared meat and vegetables. His mouth watered till he practically drooled at the scent. His stomach grumbled embarrassingly and he clenched his belly with his hand to keep the noise to a minimum.

A large iron skillet piled high with meat cutlets and roasted vegetables with garlic was set at a table off to his left. Someone lit a candle on the table, and he shifted to the opposite side of his hideaway, but not before he caught sight of a whole loaf of bread and tankard of golden ale. A chair was pulled away, but no one was seated.

The steps faded away, then paused, "Master told me you would be coming in late tonight. I'll keep the floor empty around this time. Tomorrow is potato soup."

And then she left.

 _Clever demon_ , he thought. _She must have heard me when I came in_.

He gathered the meal, plate and all, in the cloth napkin she had left. There was enough food there to feed a small family, let alone a single man. He downed the ale in a few gulps, belched, and climbed out the skylight with the food in tow.

He walked a few roofs over and climbed down the face of one home, placing the food, sans bread, inside an open window of a child's dormitory. Even though it was the second story, he jiggled the latch until it locked behind him. He didn't want someone breaking in after he had been there. Only a desperate asshole would break in to a poorhouse. No need to take chances in a new city.

He wandered the tile islands again. He walked slow enough to eat, but not stopping to rest just yet.

He pulled out the papers he stashed from the S-Class job board. He read through the descriptions, memorizing the sponsors' names, and totaled the rewards offered.

He would have to get a loan from Makarov just to travel to the cities where most originated, not including boarding or food expenses. He might make it on foot, with the occasional hunt for food – he had had plenty of practice doing that during his childhood. But he wouldn't shame himself and ask for the funds just to travel. And Makarov had specifically asked he stay close at hand. Which didn't leave him any options for a job.

He folded the papers and stuffed them back into his pocket. He'd have to return them, but not right now. He had a few more errands to make.

* * *

It took him the entire night, but he finished. He took a step back from his work and pulled the bandana from his face, wiping his brow with it. He was fairly pleased with what he'd done and feeling good, if not tired.

He tossed the cloth on the counter and noticed the sky was just starting to lighten with the first signs of dawn. Gajeel took yesterday as his hint on how early Levy rose and exited the back door.

He turned out of the alley, avoiding puddles in the slanted cobbles. There was a stack of boxes and garbage from the store next door and he climbed up, wearily pulling himself up to the now-familiar orange tiles. He laid himself out in the direction of the seams, out of sight from the street.

He took a deep breath and closed his eyes, waiting.

* * *

"Guys, it's just some books. The worst that could happen is a paper cut."

Levy decided it was time to bring in the cavalry on this job. She had inspected the store from top to bottom yesterday, compiling an extremely long inventory of books.

The store owner had posted a job asking for someone to help clean out his shop for resale. The store itself had been a victim of a fire, and being newly established, the owner did not have the funds for repairs. And so the store closed before it ever made its first sale.

It was a tough job, and the reward was paltry compared to similar postings. However, if done in a short amount of time, the owner was willing to part with the ruined portion of his stock – Levy thought she would faint if she had half a store of books to call her own.

Some of the burnt tomes did survive and she managed to move the last of them out yesterday. But today, the real work began. The fire mostly damaged the infrastructure, which meant risky work around the load bearing areas. Which is why she brought Droy.

She hoped he could use his plant-based magic to reinforce the more damaged areas while Jet and her hauled out the inventory.

Simple and effective. And luckily, Jet and Droy had already assured her they wanted no part of her toasty book reward. More for her.

They reached the shop and Levy dug in her bag for the shop keys, unintentionally twisting the door handle. She paused when it opened freely, clearly unlocked.

She knocked, "Hello...?" Suddenly wary if the owner had returned. No one answered and she stepped in.

Deep ebony wood glowing in the light of dawn drew her in, trailing her eyes upward and around at the newly made shelves and woodwork. She stood in awe at the sheer cleanliness of the store. She could smell new wood polish, ink and paper too, and yet she could see no trace of sawdust or chips from repairs having been made.

Her hand fell to wrought iron work inlaid in the shelving, supporting the weight much better than any hard wood ever could. She touched the metal with light fingers and was surprised to find it warm.

She turned slowly, taking in the beauty of what she knew the store must have looked like upon its grand opening. Perhaps better than that.

Her hands automatically trailed against the spines, checking for dust and damage. Everything had been cleaned and moved recently, and returned in perfect order.

Jet and Droy walked in behind her and both gave a low whistle and explicative in turn.

She moved to the West end of the store where the fire had done the most damage, only to find that the collapsed beams, walls, and shelves had been repaired.

But not with wood.

The iron continued and encompassed all of the ruined lumber with a relief mural of wild flowers and animals. She approached the edge of the artwork, where it delved into the wood, developing a wood grain as if the wood itself was petrifying. She was surprised, to say the least, that the mural did not even attract attention. There was iron inlaid throughout the store, making the artwork as natural as if it had always been there.

It looked as though it were a living thing, growing to encompass the whole building. She had never seen anything so beautiful.

"Cripes, Levy. Are we at the right place?" Jet asked.

She was silent for a minute. She turned and walked through to the other end of the store, checking for details she might have missed, or a magical ward they might have walked through that could have altered their perceptions.

"Yes," she answered finally. "I was here yesterday. It's the same."

Droy shuffled his feet as he read the spines on a nearby shelf, "So, what do we do now?"

She hadn't thought of that yet. She had been very much distracted.

"We'll have to call the authorities," she said.

"What?!" The exclamation came from Jet who had been poking at the iron wall, "Why?"

"I'm the only one, besides Mr. Walsh, who has a key. Someone broke in here."

"Hah! Yeah, and completely fixed the place!"

The bell at the front door rang and all eyes turned to see the elderly bookkeeper enter his store. He stumbled and stared, taking in the sight before him.

"Miss...Miss Mcgarden?" he asked tremulously, "Oh...oh my..." His voice quavered and his eyes filled with tears behind his crescent spectacles.

"Mr. Walsh, I am so sorry, but someone must have broken in last—"

"Oh, my store!" He bawled, "You fixed my store!"

Mr. Walsh was an elderly man of anywhere between seventy and a hundred years old. He wore brown corduroy slacks and a worn, red button-down shirt, complete with suspenders and a bowtie. His shoes were always shined to brilliance, except there was an ink stain at his elbow his laundress must not have caught.

His back was bent with age, but upon seeing his shop restored, he straightened to a surprising height and his wrinkled hands trembled with excitement.

He had dropped his leather suitcase by the door and now hurried to Levy, folding her into a loving embrace a grandfather might give his only daughter.

"You fixed it!" His tears flowed freely now and his weak shoulders shook with weeping laughter. "I can't believe you fixed it."

Levy had no choice but to return his embrace, looking to Droy or Jet for some kind of help in explaining. Both were not at all concerned about the possibility of a break-in and were looking on with the quiet acceptance of a job not done by them, but done nonetheless with no remorse for credit deserved.

Mr. Walsh's happiness was quite infectious and Levy had an impossible time trying to explain that they had done nothing except remove the ruined books. He did not want to listen and Levy promised to come back later when the excitement of his renewed store waned.

"Miss Mcgarden? Please, you've forgotten something."

Mr. Walsh reappeared from the back office and handed her a wet cloth. Infinitely patient, and more than a little disgusted, she held it at a distance from herself saying, "Sir, its...thank you?"

He simply chuckled and waved goodbye to her, eager to be alone with his shop. She actually heard him hollering and laughing as the door closed.

"That has got to be the easiest job we've ever helped with, Jet."

Levy rolled her eyes and examined the bandana he'd given her. There were no markings that might have given away an owner, other than its sweat infused condition. It was streaked with dust too. She had no doubts that it belonged to the mystery repairmen. Tentatively, she sniffed it.

"Haha! What on Earthland are you doing?" Droy asked incredulously.

"If you need a hound dog, Levy, I know a guy who could help."

She shook her head, "Thanks, but I'll hold on to it for now."

She folded the square and tucked it away in her bag, feeling light and happy for the fortunate Mr. Walsh. "So! I guess we could do breakfast at the guild, right?"

* * *

Gajeel rubbed his face, groaning pathetically as the sun creeped over the horizon.

"So! I guess we could do breakfast at the guild, right?"

Of course he left his bandana. Of course she would try to find the culprit. He felt more stupid and nauseous the longer he laid there, trying to fight off sleep.

He heard her leave with her friends, walking merrily back to the hall. He was too tired to use the rooftops safely. He'd more than likely break his neck if he tried at this point, and instead slid to the cobbles below, trying to use as little energy as possible.

He hit the ground in a crouch, easing up and taking the fall as momentum to move forward.

"Uh, sir?"

He kept walking, hopefully in the right direction, but tossed a set of keys back over his shoulder to the storekeeper. Mr. Walsh was kind enough to let him in the store overnight.

 _Well done, son._


End file.
